


The Devil's Voice

by chesapeake ripoff (turnofthesentry)



Category: Dark Avengers (Comic), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hearing Voices, M/M, Mental Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-13
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:37:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnofthesentry/pseuds/chesapeake%20ripoff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After one of his stints as Void, Sentry awakens to find himself with his hands around Norman's throat. Kink meme fill! Warnings in the tags. Also warning for lack of my usual Void font.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Voice

It was like a waking dream walking slowly through a backdrop of pure black velvet, no sounds present except for his own breathing. No footsteps, no wind, no thoughts.

"Bob, there you are."

He exhaled. Two red eyes peered at Bob from that expanse of darkness surrounding him, voice taking a playful intonation. A grin spread out beneath the eyes, hauntingly white and full of jagged needles. "Is it fun, Bob? Is it fun to lie?"

"I'm not lying--"

"You're not that deluded, Bobby. I know that. You don't really think what Osborn tells you is true, do you? You know I'm real. He's _using_ you. He wants to take your darkness from you. He wants _me."_

A spiny black tendril shot out from the abyss, shooting rapidly towards Bob, who stood pinned, eyes wide with knowledge and fear. The spine impaled him and Bob didn't even have time to scream before he saw the Void right in front of him. Thick inky ichor dripped from Bob's mouth and his wound bloodlessly, dripping into nowhere.

"Y-you're not--"

"I'm not what? Be careful, Bobby. You know this hurts me more than it hurts you."

"You're not _real!"_ Bob's eyes shot open manically, grabbing at shadows, grabbing at where he knew the Void kept its throat. He screamed, wishing for all the world he had the strength of the Sentry right now. He clung to that lie, that web of deceit Osborn had spun for him. "You're not real! I'm Robert Reynolds! I'm -- _there is no Void!"_

The darkness vanished in a rush, and Bob's eyes flew open. It only took him a moment to realize he was not, in fact, in some dark expanse of Nowhere land, nor was he even in his bedroom. Fingers frantically clutched his arms, clawing helplessly at invulnerable skin. Bob was still Bob but the Void had become Norman Osborn, whose face was beginning to purple under the Sentry's strong grip.

Bob let him go abruptly. "Norman!"

Norman gasped in a breath, hands still gripping tightly to Bob's arms like a drowning man's to a life raft. The color began to fade from his face. Bob observed that they were not only in Norman's office, but the man wasn't clothed -- somehow, for some reason, he had torn Norman from his bedroom and brought him here. In his sleep? How--

_"Bob,"_ Norman said, voice rasping, but stern, brimming with carefully controlled anger. He kept a pistol next to his bed, locked in a bedside table drawer, which had unlocked and grabbed when he had been aware someone was in his room. He'd come close to firing a shot, too, but while Sentry had been unresponsive all he'd managed to do was press it uselessly against the man's chest, knowing as reality set in that it would do no damage. He'd let go once Bob began to choke him, but his fingers curled back around it now. It was irrational, perhaps, but yet it was a degree of security.

"Explain yourself. What is the meaning of this?"

"I--"

"I don't take the time out for everyone like I do for you, Bob. You _are_ special. In fact, you're my favorite. I give you a lot of a lot of leeway, Bob -- something I am more than happy to do for you. But if there's one thing I don't tolerate it's having my generosity taken _advantage_ of. Did you have a nightmare?"

Bob's eyes were drawn to the splatter of hued shadows on Norman's neck, purples and reds and blacks in the shapes of fingers that slowly began to heal.

"A nightmare?"

"Yes. A _nightmare."_ Norman's gazed leveled with Bob's. His eyes flickered knowingly. He was being careful. He knew what sort of reason Bob would have for doing something so distinctly out of character; the same reason Bob was even dangerous in the first place. But it was all right -- Norman just had to be in control of it. Which he was. He could certainly handle the Sentry. All it required was keeping the Void in check.

And if he could keep the Green Goblin in check, Norman was confident he could do anything. He was smart enough to handle it; he had already got Bob believing the Void didn't exist. He could do anything.

His breathing was controlled, hand still clinging to his weapon. "That is what it was, right?"

Bob's brow wrinkled. "It--" ("What do you think he wants, Bob? He knows you're stronger than him. He knows how powerful you are, but he still prefers **me.** What I offer, that is. No matter how many times you show yourself off, you're second best, Bobby." )

Norman was distinctly aware he was being pinned to his desk. Strong hands held his wrists, and there was a brief stab of concern in his chest that then flared in his brain. Not panic, just concern. There was no reason he couldn't reign in control over Bob again, no reason at all -- he knew Bob, he _understood_ him. This wasn't out of his hands.

"B--" Norman was quieted by lips over his, blonde hair tickling his bare shoulders. Norman's eyes sprang open, and he jerked his body responsively, trying to shove Bob off him, to an obvious lack of success.

Sufficiently gagged by Bob's mouth, there was a pronounced lack of protest when Bob nervously undid his costume's belt and pressed himself against Norman, seeking approval. Norman broke the kiss, breathing in again. "Bob, think about what you're doing," he said calmly, as evenly as he could with another man's cock rubbing against his thigh. Bob bit his lip.

"I did. And I know that--" He paused, "you like what I can do, and I also know I wouldn't have gotten this far without your help, I just want to--"

A strong but gentle hand stroked down Norman's chest, moving down before it held him by the thigh. Norman bit his inner cheek, simply watching, torn between indignance and fascination. "What?"

Bob took the gun out of Norman's hand, gently setting it aside.

"I want to show you that you're right. You don't have to be scared of me."

"This isn't necessary, get o-- nngh--"

He used his fingers first, being careful as Norman's muscles clenched and he jerked again beneath Bob. He removed them, replacing his hands on Norman's hips and pushing in quickly, before too much thought went into it.

Norman's breath caught, eyes widening and hands gripping the edge of the desk. He exhaled quickly, trying to formulate words but each time being interrupted by Bob pushing deeper, electrifying nerves Norman hadn't known he had. He leaned back further, eyes closing against the blonde that he was beneath, for once, rather than on top of.

There were reasons Norman admired Bob, certainly. He was always a man who appreciated power and strength beyond much else -- weakness he never tolerated, unless he had to. Lily was weak, but she was pliable, easily trained. He didn't need her to be strong for anything but carrying his child. Bob wasn't only strong, he _embodied_ strength. Norman could reason that this wasn't about dominance and submission, even if perhaps it would be a justification to his ego and only his ego. But Bob was by all means a God in everything but name, but still so --

"Ahh--"

similar--

"Yes--"

to Norman--

to his _mind._ Except Norman and Bob, they were on opposite spectrums.

"Bob," Norman panted, face slick with sweat. He pushed his hips against Bob's, curling an arm around the man's back. "--You don't have to be this _gentle._ What do you think is going to happen?"

"Sorry, I didn't want to--"

"Remember who I am. If you're going to--" He stumbled on the words, "--at least do it with some feeling." Norman kept his eyes closed. There was distance that had to be kept. His nails again tracked uselessly against Bob, trying to leave marks of possession on skin that was unmarkable.

Bob nodded, lifting up Norman's hips and driving himself in with more force, gasping lightly as he felt Norman react around him. He dug his fingers in to better anchor his thrusts, heedless of the bruising force of his grip. It took remarkable concentration not to move too hard, but even when he worried he was slipping up Norman reacted in pleasure, not pain. With a swallow, Bob took it as encouragement, relaxing a bit more and pulling their hips together, bruises pressed in skin like fingerprints on glass.

Norman's breath hitched again around barely contained moans, hand snaking down without thought to stroke himself. He moved against each jab, asking for more with his body and not his voice. There was something vitalizing about being this close to -- about _experiencing_ this sort of power. A rare and fulfilling experience. Privately so, of course. Some thoughts had to be kept safe from voyeurs, lest they get jealous. And Norman had only one of those within his head.

He dug his heel into Bob's back, free hand tangling into the mane of golden hair, first just gripping it but then yanking as he climaxed. Bob dug his heels into the floor, keeping his pace steady, but more rapid. His bangs hung over his brow into his face, muscles tightening finally after outlasting Norman by about two or three minutes. His release was more jarring than he expected, met with his own sharp gasp and a noise caught somewhere between a yell and a grunt from Norman.

Norman's eyes snapped open, and when Bob withdrew from him Norman pulled away quickly, face taking on disgust and shame rather than wallowing in afterglow. Bob kept himself from biting his lip again, self-doubt creeping back into him slowly. Norman opened his mouth; swallowed his words, closing it again. Then, "I think you should go get some sleep, Bob, tomorrow is a big day."

It wasn't, but Bob understood that he was being told to go. He told Norman goodnight as he redressed himself, offering an unspecific apology before he turned and left for his room. His footsteps were brisk, perhaps unnecessarily so.

("What did I tell you? Second best. This is why you should always let **me** handle things." )


End file.
